The Quest For Skinny Pants

Monthly Archives: June 2012

I’m not saying I’ve developed regret over Tuesday night’s pizza and cocktail indulgence, but it has slowed my progress and set me back a touch. It added two pounds and I’m still recovering from the salt and alcohol. I was very careful yesterday and only lost a tenth of a pound. So maybe a smidge of regret. Maybe.

Yesterday was grocery shopping, a dreaded chore. I need to be able to count the miles of walking (two laps around a warehouse store, three around the huge discount grocery store and two around my local Safeway) as my workout, since I was so busy with that and the Girl Scout event we attended that there was no time for the elliptical.

Okay, more like no energy, but still. I walked MILES through those stinking stores. Which makes me think I should break down and buy a pedometer.

Fruit and veggies are re-stocked; bad, tempting things avoided; a few new breakfast items are in the chute; healthy lunches are in place. Hummus and bean-corn salsa for all!

Side note: I stopped at Subway for lunch, a Veggie Delight on flatbread. (Which, by the way, is actually more calories and fat than their plain white bread. Doh!) While there, I noticed something. I don’t know if it was that particular location (a trendy part of Folsom part of Folsom that considers itself hip) or the time of day (12:15), but Subway appears to be the official restaurant of not only athletes, but douchebags. SO MANY DOUCHY DUDES! Seriously, every flavor: corporate drone douche, “exploring his options” (read: out of work) douche, gym rat douche and my special favorite, doctor douche. Oye. I left there considerably fresher than when I came in. Summers Eve fresh. My sandwich even had a disturbing floral aroma. Thank goodness it wasn’t soggy.

Not just your average pizza place. This was a place with “ambience” and a “drink menu.” My kind of place.

We were celebrating the end of school and the kids really wanted to go to Chuck E. Cheese. Now from a diet perspective, that would have been a great choice. The pizza is absolute crap, the salad bar’s a petri dish and the constant clenching of my jaw would have burned off any calories I consumed. But I took the kids out to lunch at McDonalds. Dinner was for me.

The restaurant is not a huge chain and the nutritional information isn’t available online, which sucked. I was doing okay with a thin crust margharita pizza, except the crust was so amazing, I could not stop eating the damn thing. And my husband, unaware of how he was killing me, insisted I take a bite of the 5 meat stuffed pizza he had ordered. Damn. I don’t even like meat on my pizza and that stuff was flat-out amazing. Not to mention the fact that by the end of an extremely long meal where I told my children 27 times to wipe their hands on their napkins, not their shirts, well, I needed a drink. Badly. So our waiter brought me a chocolate-coconut martini that was quite simply, the best thing I have ever had in my mouth. An alcoholic Almond Joy bar. Dear heavens.

So I’m a couple of pounds up today, even though I starved myself during the day before. I know some of it is water retention, due to the heavy salt load last night. And alcohol, especially a sweet mixed drink, is murder on weight loss. So I’m back at it today, eating like a person who wants to make her goals.

Pin up pictures of a great skinny outfit? Uh-huh. I’ve even bought skinny outfits. Some size 8 lucked the fuck out at Goodwill.

Set up a reward schedule. Oh so many times. I generally say “screw it,” and get the pedicure no matter what I weigh.

I’m trying something I found on Pinterest and to be honest, I’ve done this in a lot of variations over the years. It’s the reward fund. You put aside a set amount for every goal you meet: a quarter a pound, a dollar for every time you exercise, a five dollar bill when you meet a major goal. Basically, you save up for that big-ass reward. (Or little-ass reward, as the case might be.)

I’m putting in a dollar for every workout, $10 for every 10 pounds lost. We’ll see how I do and how quickly I accumulate or deplete the cash. I’d love to have that pickle jar stuffed so full of cash I can’t even tell how much is in there. Better yet, I’d love to post a picture of that crammed jar, saying “LOOK AT WHAT I DID. I FUCKING ROCK!”

And if you were wondering how I did yesterday at Food-a-palooza? Wonder no more.

I. Fucking. Rocked. It.

I was under my daily values at the end of the day. No lie. Now, I didn’t have a margarita like I thought I would, because what with the brownies, cupcakes, guacamole, cheeseburgers, hotdogs and chips everywhere, I was afraid of my inhibitions taking a vacation. Let’s face it, tequila is the great persuader. So I skipped the wine, the beer, the margaritas and I spent an hour and a half in the pool, playing with my kids. It is AMAZING how much that helped. Taking yourself out of the path of temptation is the single best move you can make, my friends. That isn’t always possible. But yesterday, I made it happen. And when I felt my willpower slipping and the caramel corn was calling my name? We went home.

Why is it that my husband wants to come read over my shoulder when I’m writing a blog post or cruising Facebook, but never when I’m pinning cool stuff he should buy for me? It’s an absolute mystery.

In other news, I’m down 5 pounds and blow 250, which makes it a little easier to breathe. Halfway to the first goal, which is a nice little boost as I get ready to spend the afternoon at my mom’s house. Ordinarily, it wouldn’t be much of an issue , but my aunt is there.

My aunt has a super power. She is a crazy effective enabler. I do not lie, the woman has the ability to derail even the most dedicated of dieters. When I called to check in with mom today, they were headed out to Sam’s Club.

Hold me.

I made specific requests: hummus, watermelon, blackberries. I spent 20 minutes on the elliptical trainer this morning. I’m tracking my food. I’m trying to keep my weight on my mind, so I don’t get to my mom’s house and flip the hell out, snarfing chips and guac and margaritas until I’ve put back on all 5 pounds. I’ll let myself have one margarita. That will be my treat. But I’ll also be forcing myself into my swimsuit and getting in the pool. If that doesn’t kill my appetite, I don’t know what will.

I’m halfway there. HALFWAY to my first goal. If I can reach this first mark, I can stay strong till the next one. And then I’m almost all the way to losing 10% of my body weight. Which is epic. I want that. I want it bad.

I just have to remember that I want that, when confronted with cookies and ice cream, cheese dip and bread.

I’m calling BULLSHIT on all of that, except the part where you’re in water. And maybe the joint thing. It’s possible the excruciating knee pain is due to something I did wrong.

A while back, my mom decided she wanted to do water aerobics and I should do it too. And like a moron, I agreed. We were going to take an actual class through my local CSD, but the scheduling worked against us. Sad face here. *not really*

So we got ambitious, did a google search, and found several moves that seemed promising. We cobbled our workout together and printed it out, even slipping the pages into plastic sheet protectors. Bonus points if you’re already prediciting an unhappy ending.

Beach balls? Check!

Pool noodles? Check!

Goggles? Check!

Dignity abandoned? Hell to the CHECK!

Seriously, you guys. My teenage daughter was watching us and could hardly breathe from the laughter. Flailing around in the water, we looked like drunken, mentally- challenged walruses. The best move was something called an “otter roll.” Holding the ball to your stomach, you roll from side to side, much like an otter. The woman in the video made it seem easy!

OH. MY. AQUAMAN. It’s so not easy. I very nearly gave myself a concussion trying to this move. We agreed smaller balls and tighter cores were essential for the otter roll. Not that we’re giving up. We’re simply not that smart. We’re going to master this one if it kills us.

And it very well might.

The other killer? The pike-sculler. Fucking A. This one hurts. You hold your body in a wide v, bent at the waist, legs extended, and use your extended arms to propel you up and down the pool. Sounds easy? It totally is. For the first 10 seconds. Then your abs start whining about being uncomfortable and your arms start bitching about doing all the work. And guess what? You still have a lap and a half to go, sucker!

Good times.

We’re doing two evening a week, so if you’re in the mood for a hell of a laugh, come on by. But a word the wise: wear your Depends.